


This Is What It Looks Like

by FatherIimaginedyoutaller



Series: OCD Batfam [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne Needs Help, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce wayne has OCD, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Mentions of paedophilia duh, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatherIimaginedyoutaller/pseuds/FatherIimaginedyoutaller
Summary: POCD: a sub type of ocd that makes the patient terrified that they might be a pedophile.Bruce needs help. And thank God he got it on time.
Series: OCD Batfam [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811962
Comments: 4
Kudos: 88





	This Is What It Looks Like

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I started reading about OCD and it's different subtypes after I got diagnosed with contamination OCD (fuck you COVID-19). And I thought that seeing Bruce struggle with this particular type would make for interesting character study. 
> 
> Please remember to comment and tell me what you think.

Bruce sat on the bed, gripping the paper thin covers with an iron fist. He felt the hospital gown itching his skin and he had this overwhelming urge to run out of there and make sure no one found him ever again.

But that wasn't the solution.

There was no solution really. Only techniques, therapy and medication he could take but they wouldn't fix him, immediately. One day he would be who he was before all of this went spiraling down (at least that's what they told him) but for now he'll have to face his fears and get used to the uncertainty.

The uncertainty. He already lived in uncertainty, ever night he went out he went uncertain he would come back. He had post morten plans of course, dozens of them. He had a plan for everything. But even he couldn't predict what went down this last few months.

It didn't all went down quickly. It was a slow development that culminated into a full mental breakdown. What finally broke the Bat wasn't any powerful villain but his own mind, his own urges and his own objective memory.

"How long has it been?" He asked "since I'm here I mean?"

"It's been two weeks" Doctor Abigail Tecna answered "are you having trouble with dates?"

"No, It's just- he paused- I miss my family"

"Understandable, hospitalization it's difficult for everyone involved"

Bruce frowned.

"Really? you seemed pretty fucking relaxed"

The doctor only blinked and Bruce felt guilt settle inmediately

. 

"I'm sorry"

"It's alright. Now are you willing to work on exposures today?"

"...Yes..." 

"Very well, well start right away ...and Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"Missing you family it's a good sign"

Bruce sat up straight and blinked. A small smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. Although now his mind was now using this fact to send new fears to him: images, urges, sensations. But they didn't bother him as much.

Unlike two months ago.

______________________________________

Bruce entered the bathroom and shut the door closed. His heart was racing and his stomach was turned upside down. He barely managed to put up the toilet's lid before he vomited all the food he ate during the day.

He breathed inside and out, feeling his body shake. He sat in front of the toilet with one hand on the seat. He had no intention of standing up.

Nor to keep living for that matter.

It was perplexing how his own self perception had changed so much. He felt sick with himself, he felt like he had been a monster this whole time and he just didn't know it.

*those are symptoms*

*are they?*

He put his head on the toilet again but nothing came out. He felt so sick. And the worst thing is that he couldn't tell anyone what was going on. Which only made him more sick because he could no longer tell if he was just faking this whole thing up.

______________________________________

Everyone thinks they're the exception.

Bruce knew he shouldn't have searched the symptoms again because he didn't get no new answers from it. This wasn't like a case file he could read again and again until he found something new he missed the first time and put it together. No, this was the opposite of a mystery, there was no clear answer. Only uncertainty, forever. Nothing to solve.

He sat in front of his computer. The one who had the official "OCD Gotham" list of official diagnosis. And the one Bruce hopped was accurate was highlighted.

# POCD: the fear of being a pedophile

"People with this diagnosis do not in any way want to harm children and many reports that they would rather take their own life than to actually harm a child. There are, in fact, more cases of severe depression and suicide attempts among patients with pOCD. Therefore, getting treatment for this subtype of OCD is crucial"

This would have brought him relief right? Knowing that it was all in his head and that he could get help?

If only things were so simple.

______________________________________

"Bruce what's wrong?" 

It had been a second. For a sweet moment Bruce thought he had gone back to normal. That it was finally over then it came to him.

A memory. A fake memory. A memory that felt so real he felt the need to hit his head against a wall until it was over. 

And so he did.

______________________________________

"Ready?" Doctor Abigail Tecna asked

"Yes" Bruce answered 

"Put on your headphones"

Bruce did so, he allowed himself to squirm a little on the chair. If he go too uncomfortable he could tell the Doctor to stop at any time but last time he hadn't lasted even 2 replays.

"15 years ago I was bathing my son Richard. I'm afraid I may have touched him inappropriately at the moment. I could never forgive myself I did so. How can I live with myself if I actually did it?"

Bruce grimaced and breathed in and out. He resisted the urge to press his knuckles until they bleed out.

"A few years ago I noticed my zipper while I was waiting for my son outside school, at the moment the kindergarten children were coming out, what if I flashed myself to them without meaning it? Am I secretly a monster?"

Bruce gritted his teeth. He let the rest of the recordings play. They were 5 in total. And each of them represented a thought or a memory that caused him anxiety. It was called an exposure and the therapy was called ERP or Exposure Response Prevention. He was just supposed to let himself be with the recording he made of his worse fears and avoiding doing compulsions, mental or otherwise, in order to make his brain used to the thoughts so he could live "parallel to the thoughts"

Easier said than done.

______________________________________

"Today I took my niece to the park" Linda said.

Bruce was sitting next to her everyone else in the circle had already spoke so he was coming up next. He dreaded it almost as much as he dreaded to speak in galas. Although the scene here was significantly different. They were in a hospital common room, not in a fancy venue; They serve water and coffee, not champagne and the most notable difference here it that he actually felt the people here were they're true selves? Hoe could they not? They were all here to seek help.

Bruce looked over at Linda she was in her fifties and had red hair. She was the only other one here with POCD which had discouraged him a little at first, until he understood that, despite being one of the most common forms of OCD, it was also one of the less talked about.

Linda begin on a tangent about how her niece played with her and she almost didn't get any intrusive thoughts. Bruce smiled politely at her, although he felt some jealousy swole his chest. It was unjustified of course, but Bruce was everything but patient.

He wished his recovery didn't take so long and he wished it hadn't gone so far that he had to be hospitalized. Although he got the diagnose immediately, he had been put inGotham General for a, officially, a peak of stress.

Unofficially? Attempted suicide.

______________________________________ 

How does recovery look like?

Bruce put on some clothes. Alfred had brought him some joggins and a plain t-shirt. His adoptive father was the only member of His family that had been allowed to visit him. He went over to the mirror in the hospital hall.

How did recovery looked like? The official answer was that it looked like the absence of anxiety and few intrusive thoughts.

Bruce wasn't there yet.

But he looked better. The wounds behind his head had already healed and he no longer had a concussion. He had done great advances in his ERP exercises and he was healthy enough to be allowed to go out for a few hours.

It was a lovely day to go to the park.

______________________________________

"So...how are they treating you?" Dick asked awkwardly.

The first visit was always hard, or so they told him

"They're treating me alright. The food is...edible" Bruce answered, Dick laughed a little.

Bruce felt as if he was looking at his son through a telescope. He was far away and surrounded by walls. Those walls were his thoughts and they were closing. 

Nevertheless he kept his composure.

"I bet you miss Alfred's cooking right now?" Bruce laughed for the first time in months.

______________________________________

Bruce slept in his own bed for the first time. And he didn't do it alone.

Orders of the doctor, he was required to have a family member watching him at all times. Good thing Alfred didn't snore. Although Bruce suspected he wasn't fully asleep either.

Alfred turned around and met with his dad's gray eyes. He was correct.

"Everything all right Master Bruce?"

"...no..."

"I had a nightmare"

"We'll, you'll talk about it later with your therapist. For now just try to sleep"

He knew that Alfred would have been more sensitive in any other case but OCD treatment was basically "tough love" and telling someone who wasn't a professional about what was in your mind counted as a compulsion.

The cycle of compulsion was something Bruce had memorize by now and he knew Alfred was familiar with it by now: Obsession- Anxiety - compulsions - momentary relief.

Momentary.

Bruce longed those moments. Like an addict, when he started resisting it was the worse part of it. But everyday it got a little easier.

Every day it gets a little easier.

How did recovery look?

Abscense of anxiety and a few intrusive thoughts.

Bruce wasn't there yet.

But he was getting there.

______________________________________

"Are you coming in tonight?" Cassandra signed to him

"Yes" he signed back.

Cass' ballet show. He had promised 6 months ago. 

His head hurt, his stomach ached and his head was on nightmare mode.

How did recovery looked like?

His anxiety was yelling at him and the thoughts wouldn't shut up.

But he was getting there.

______________________________________ 

"Remember to take your pills" Damian said to him sternly. 

"Yes, I know Damian, thank you"

It was the first breakfast they had together in over a year. And after that he needed to take zoloft. 50 mgs. The standard. Then clonazepam and fluoxetine to sleep.

The boy sat next to him and Bruce watched him eat his breakfast.

Absence of anxiety? Yes. Intrusive thoughts. On fire mode.

Yet he ignored them and sat next to his boy.

______________________________________

Nine months later. Nine months that were full with setbacks, change of dishes and almost impossible sessions of ERP and regular Therapy. 

Bruce got to hold his first grandchild.

Mar'i looked at him with her big green eyes. He smiled.

This was what recovery looked like.


End file.
